


Mentor

by taylor_tut



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Annoyed Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Chekov is a good boy, Concussions, Gen, Hurt James T. Kirk, Kirk Whump, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 11:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20852549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Kirk snaps at Chekov for falling asleep on the bridge and he takes it hard because he looks up to Kirk so much. Kirk comes to apologize to him later and it turns out he's not doing so hot. Chekov has a chance to look out for the captain for once.





	Mentor

Chekov hadn’t realized that his eyes had slipped closed until the sound of a hand slamming on the desk in front of him startled him into opening them. 

“Mr. Chekov,” Kirk barked harshly and not quietly, “you were drifting.” 

He felt his cheeks heat up and knew that they were turning bright red in that way that he hated, the way they did when he was embarrassed. 

“I am sorry, Captain,” he apologized. “I’m awake.” 

On a normal day, that would have been enough to satisfy Jim. He was a great captain—even better than in Chekov’s wildest dreams—who valued his crew’s health and happiness above everything else. He’d bring coffee to people who were dragging at the beginning of the day or refer sore crew members to medical after the end of their shifts for a muscle relaxant so they could get a more comfortable sleep. 

However, Chekov also knew that these circumstances weren’t exactly normal. Everyone had been walking on eggshells around Jim lately because everything seemed to stress him out. He hadn’t been angry or, really, even too cranky, but every time Sulu brought up a signal that needed a second opinion or Scotty asked about the status of new ship parts he’d ordered to replace the ones that were beginning to show signs of wear, it seemed to add another line of worry to Kirk’s constantly-creased forehead. Everything rested on his shoulders, it felt like, and two and a half years into their five-year mission, that was beginning to take its toll. 

He admired the captain, he really did. For all the hard work he did with an intentional effort to make it look easy, for bearing the brunt of the scolding when the Enterprise got into trouble with Starfleet, for making every personal concern or crewmen’s squabble his business to resolve: Kirk was larger than life. 

His once-tight-fitting jacket creased in the middle when he crossed his arms. 

“Are you, perhaps, so tired because you were working night shift last night?” he asked. 

He blinked. “Uh, yes, Captain,” he admitted. “I believe that is a factor. You see, one of the engineers has taken leave, and I thought—”

“You thought that you’d endanger everyone by working for 16 hours without a break? You thought you'd take everyone's lives into your hands when you're barely functioning? You thought--”

“Jim,” Spock scolded. Though Chekov didn't dare look away from the captain, he could hear that Spock’s tone was harsh. “That is enough.”

Jim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You're relieved, ensign Chekov, until you've had 8 hours sleep and a proper meal.” 

Chekov nodded and slipped away quietly with his metaphorical tail between his legs muttering, “thank you, Captain,” as he scurried away. 

He tried not to take it personally, but as he undressed in his room, he found that he couldn't stop his eyes welling up with frustrated, embarrassed tears. He wanted Kirk to think only good things about him. Honestly, that's why he'd taken the extra shift in the first place. “What would Kirk do,” he'd asked himself, “if there was a job to be done and no one to do it?” 

He'd do it himself, Chekov had decided. Dr. McCoy would agree, he knew--that's what half their fights were about, at least. Kirk would have pushed through the exhaustion, but apparently, that was only okay when he did it. Chekov laid down in bed, his eyes heavy from the long day but his mind racing so much that he knew he wouldn't fall asleep any time soon. He settled instead for starting at the ceiling and trying to figure out how he'd make this up to everyone later.

Meanwhile, on the bridge, Kirk sank heavily down in the chair, enduring the judging, uncomfortable silence that he’d created. He could feel the headache intensifying behind his eye and snapped his gaze to Sulu when he realized that the silence didn’t just mean that the chattering had stopped, but the sounds of typing and monitoring, too. 

“As you were,” he demanded, and that’s when he flinched at the sound of a familiar scoff from the doorway of the bridge. 

“Come off it, Jim,” Bones scolded. “You’re throwing a fit.” 

“I’m not,” he argued borderline petulantly. “Don’t you have patients?” 

“Oh, don’t think you’re going to push me around like you did the kid,” he almost laughed. “I go wherever I want.” 

Jim dared to roll his eyes and Leonard was having none of it. He wound up to strike verbally, but when Kirk’s eye-rolling motion ended in a flinch and a hiss of pain as one hand flew up to rub at his eyes, he thought better of it. 

“Is that damn headache still bothering you?” he asked none too quietly. “Is that why you’re humiliating your crew for no reason?” He’d given Jim muscle relaxants twice in an effort to get it under control, but it appeared as though he wasn’t responding to them. That seemed to make him deflate a little. 

“I guess I did, didn't I?” he muttered. “Well, shit.”

McCoy frowned taking in the pallor of Jim's face and that's when he noticed the small droplets of dark red liquid on the back of his collar. 

“What the hell? Is that blood?” 

“I really screwed up this time,” he continued as if Bones hadn't said anything.

“Jim, are you even hearing me?” The sudden change of demeanor was jarring and making him nervous. Spock, who Bones hadn't known was listening, steadied him as he stumbled forward. Jim used the momentum to get through the doors into the hallway before anyone could chase after him and Leonard cursed. 

“The Captain does not appear well,” Spock said. Bones scoffed.

“Yeah, thank you for that; I know. I think he’s hurt. Maybe a concussion, but he scurried off before I could examine him.” 

Spock nodded. “He has been rather… Unpredictable in his conduct since we returned from Parada IV.”

“Damn it,” Bones muttered, “why doesn’t he ever mention these things?” He internally cursed himself for not noticing sooner, cursed Spock and the rest of the ship for not tipping him off because every single one of them knew that if something were wrong with Kirk, that Kirk would be the last person to say it. 

“I’ve got to get down to medical and get a tricorder. Try to figure out where he went and page me if he’s into trouble. I’ll go find him as soon as I can.”

They took off in different directions, neither of them the one which Kik had taken off. 

Chekov startled at a knock on his door, heavy and uneven. In just a pair of black sweatpants and an undershirt, he opened the door, immediately embarrassed when he saw who was on the other side. 

“Captain,” he greeted, sounding surprised. “I, erm, would have gotten dressed, had I known—”

“Don’t,” Kirk interjected, swaying on his feet a little and catching himself in the doorway. His gaze was softer than earlier, almost sad, as he spoke. “I’m sorry about… on the bridge…”

“No, Captain, you were right,” he argued. “I was breaking Starfleet code.”

“We all break code, Scotty—”

“Scotty?” Chekov echoed, all at once honing in on Kirk’s pale face and distant-sounding, slurred speech and wavering stance. He shook his head as if to clear it and opened his none-too-clearer-looking eyes. 

“Chekov,” he corrected, “sorry. S’what I meant.”

“If I may speak freely—”

Kirk flinched but nodded. “Please.”

“Captain, you do not look well. Perhaps you should sit down.” Kirk made the decision for him by swaying forward hard enough that Chekov had to steady him by the shoulders. He guided him as gently as he could to the edge of his bed, ignoring how wrong and personal that felt, and pulled his comm from its charger. 

“Come in, medical,” he called, trying to keep his voice calm. The voice that replied was not nearly so calm. 

“Chekov, tell me you’ve got Jim,” Dr. McCoy demanded, sounding annoyed in that way that he’d gathered meant that he should be worried about Kirk. 

“He is here in my quarters, sir,” he replied. Bones’ relief was audible in his sigh. “He appears to need medical attention.”

“I’m on my way,” he warned. “Don’t let him get away again. Tie him down if you have to.” He hung up in a way that let Chekov know that he was actually serious about that bit, but when he turned to Kirk once more, it was clear that he wasn’t trying to go anywhere. 

“You know, I don’t mean to be… to snap, when I do.” 

“Captain, please; it is okay. Medical attention is on the way—”

“I think you’re doing a good job,” he finished. “For what it’s worth.”

It was worth more than he wanted to admit to, really. “Thank you, captain.”

“You’re a bright kid and you’re gonna be great. Like, really great. If you don’t let assholes like me push you around.”

He might have smiled if Kirk’s eyes didn’t flutter offputtingly when he blinked, but instead, he just bit down on his lower lip and opened the door to Doctor McCoy when he knocked. 

“Jim, for God’s sake,” he muttered, waving a tricorder over his head. “Can you not be a crisis for one damn minute?”

“I’m not,” he argued petulantly, and Bones scoffed. 

“The concussion you have begs to differ.” Kirk looked a bit scolded. 

“Didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Yeah, you never do,” he said, “until you’re knocking on death’s door and I’m expected to pull you back before he answers.” He turned his attention to Chekov with a sour look on his face. “If he said anything to you—”

“Do not worry about it, sir,” Chekov curtailed. “Would you like help to transport him to the medical bay?”

Bones hesitated, but eventually caved, deciding that Chekov seemed calm enough that he probably hadn’t said anything too devastating, so he allowed Chekov to take Kirk’s other arm and support him to the med bay. If he remembered it later, Kirk would likely be embarrassed that he’d showed up at Chekov’s door so vulnerable, apologizing for the things he’d said under the influence of a head injury like an ex trying to justify a drunk text, but he chose to believe what he’d said now rather than the snapping on the bridge and decided that from that moment on, he’d take Kirk’s words to heart and be a little more confident. It’s what Kirk would do, after all, and that was good enough for him. 


End file.
